The field next to our apartment complex was an inhospitable, bleak patch of land. Shoulder high crumbling brick walls stood sentry on two sides, while a snarling, barbed wire fence enclosed the field. Sunbaked corn stalks, growing in a random, scattered pattern staked claim to one half of the field, standing tall and defiant against the blazing sun each day. In the wake of the corn, rough, black dirt plastered the remainder of the field. It was obvious that the corn seed had been scattered by hand or by the wind, it was not machine planted like I see back home in Illinois. This patch of land in my temporary home in India was an unusual sight for me, but I grew accustomed to its bleak roughness over time.
One day the field came to life as a nomadic family erected a lien-to, created from a thin, fiery red cloth tied to four uneven tree branches wedged into the hard ground. The dark earth of the field became their beds, their chairs and their tables. The kitchen consisted of a small fire surrounded by cooking pots. Their wardrobe consisted of the clothes they lived in day to day. This family lived in full view of every passer-by because their home had no walls, no privacy.
As I passed each day, I watched the two women crouched by the small fire cooking meals, tending to the children and carrying pots of water from the roadside spigot half a mile down the road. The two men of the family disappeared during the day, only to return for an afternoon rest, lying on the hard dirt in the shade of a few nearby trees. There were six young children living in the camp as well. I loved watching the children play hide and seek in the field of cornstalks, it looked like such fun!
One day as my family and I were walking past the corn field, three children were playing in the shade near the brick wall that divided us. We could see them through the crumbling holes. As we came near the wall, we unintentionally startled the children and two of them took off running towards the camp and the adults of their family.
The third child, a girl around the age of six stayed and simply looked up at us with dark, shimmering eyes, smiled and waved to us. When she smiled, her entire face lit up so that even her eyes smiled at us. I was amazed that through the layers of dirt and grime, through the tatters of her clothing came a beauty that shone from the inside. I stood, holding my breath in awe of this beautiful little girl. Though we were not able to communicate through words, she shared her happiness with me, and showed me her innocence and beauty.
Just then, a cherub faced little boy around 3 years old came running back, his shyness and fear overcome by his innate curiosity. I bent down to look at him through a hole in the brick wall. He pulled back slightly but when he saw my smile, his smile unfolded, and a giggle escaped from his lips. I could not suppress my own laughter and I remembered the bag I was carrying.
The bag had a pineapple and a large bunch of grapes from the vendor cart down the street. I handed the little girl the bag and when she looked inside, she flashed another grin in our direction. She waved to us and yelled with excitement to the adults around the fire, and she and the little boy ran to them as fast as they could.
As the minor commotion erupted in the camp, we walked away, leaving the family to enjoy the fruit. I made a mental note to buy more fruit during the week to bring to these beautiful children.
Two days later, I passed the field and my breath caught and my heart sank. The shaded camp, the pot, the adults and the beautiful children were gone. The field lost its glimmer of life and seemed empty and lonely again. My chance to see those beautiful smiles had passed. The family, as they surely have done many times before, moved on to find their next unlikely home. This family, who at first glance appeared to have nothing, truly had everything they needed with each other. And I learned to see the bleak, rough field as a home, as a playground a place of peace.
Not everything is as it first seems.
(Originally written 2008) Author’s Note: This is a true story from a period of time when I lived in India with my family. We had many experiences that changed my view of the world, but watching this family just outside of our comfortable existence in our apartment gave me a clear perspective of what is important in this life. My non-verbal exchange with these children brought so much joy to my heart that I can still feel it today, over 10 years later.
Musings of A Mysterious Mind 